Curse of the Morning Star
by Jake Flood
Summary: Kara Stormblade made a deal with a devil. She cannot die, her enemies fall before her increased strength and speed, her wounds heal almost instantly. But for the first month of every year, she serves Clavicus Vile. These are the tales of those months. Rated M for violence/language/themes.


_~A/N: Another new story, also set after the events of 'Adventures with the Dragonborn.' If you're interested in the prior events referenced here, then read that story, but I've tried to make it so this stands alone. Successfully or not, I don't know. My profile's got the plan for updates, etc. Anyway, thanks for reading.~_

* * *

It was cold and lonely in the highest tower of Arcwind Point, but that was exactly why Kara was there. She was hoping Clavicus Vile would show up as soon as the year began; she had some bones to pick with him about the deal she'd made. She sat with her back against the wall of the tower, staring emptily into the fire in front of her. She could survive without one, she knew, but she still felt the cold and a fire made her night that tiny bit more bearable.

She doubted if anyone in the history of Tamriel had made a decision as stupid as hers. It had sounded so tempting; what Vile had offered. But she'd tested the limits of her new powers and found them wanting. She could not die, that much she was sure of. No blade nor fire nor fall could kill her, although she'd tried each and every way she could think of. Short scars dotted her chest, with matching ones on her back. Longer scars lined the inside of her forearms. With pain from the exterior world losing its meaning, she had made up for it internally.

She again reminded herself to eat; although she could not die of starvation, she still felt hunger. She'd have to descend the mountains to find anything to eat, though. Little lived at Arcwind Point. There had been draugr when she'd arrived, armoured undead with huge swords and the power of the Thu'um. Her ebony greatsword, a gift from the Dragonborn, had carved through them with little effort. Her enhanced strength at work. She could now wield the once-heavy sword with only one hand.

She thought of him often. Gondain, ender of the Civil War, Harbinger of the Companions, slayer of the World-Eater. She remembered their first meeting, on the shores of Lake Ilinalta. Her, still committed to the Stormcloak cause long after the War had ended. Him, essentially in retirement, living above Falkreath with his wife Angi. He'd had no armour, only a single longsword, but he'd made her feel like every combat skill she had was worthless. He'd let her live that day, turned her aside from her outcast life.

Kara huddled her furs tighter against the bitter winds. The moonlight was obscured by heavy clouds, loaded with the possibilities of future rains. The night stretched on, heading towards the new year. Heading towards her first month of serving Vile. Eleven months of freedom, one month of servitude. It had sounded like a good deal. But nobody just deals with the daedra and gets away with it.

Midnight. The first of Morning Star, the year two hundred and six of the fourth era. Dawn of a new month and a new year. Suddenly there was a gap in the wind, and Clavicus Vile was there. His form small and rotund, just as she'd seen him that day she'd stepped through the Oblivion Gate. Two small horns protruded from his forehead, he was clothed in multiple layers of furs, and his smile was eternal.

He sniffed dramatically and peered around the tower. Still smiling, always smiling. Kara's eyes met his.

"Take it back," said Kara, her voice creaky through lack of use. She let loose a harsh cough. Vile crouched on the other side of her fire.

"Take what back?" he asked, all innocent and unknowing.

"This curse," croaked Kara. "Take it back. I don't want it."

Vile's smile showed teeth. "You want to rescind on a deal? Can't be done, I'm afraid." He lacked even the remotest whisper of sympathy in his tone and expression.

"But you lied!" exclaimed Kara, her voice gaining clarity. "I still feel pain and cold and hunger. I can still be beaten. You lied. You said I would be a– a demigod."

"Are you not?" enquired Vile. "You cannot die, you will never age, disease will not touch you—"

Kara spoke over the Prince. "You didn't mention the scars neither!"

"You never asked," replied Vile. He stretched his short arms out and looked around distractedly. "Now, it is the month of Morning Star, and I have a task for you. That was the deal, was it not? You can do whatever you want for the rest of the year, but for this month, you serve me."

Kara didn't move, but an idea began to take shape inside her mind.

"I have divined the location of my Masque," continued Vile. "It has been recovered by bandits occupying the shipwreck of the Winter War. You know where that is." Kara nodded. She did. Eastmarch; her old home. The wreck was north-east of Windhelm, out in the ice of the Sea of Ghosts. Easy enough.

"Go there," Vile went on, "kill the bandits and retrieve my Masque."

"How do I get it back to you?" she asked wearily. No matter how hard she tried, how tired she became, sleep eluded her. Every bone and every muscle in her body ached with weariness, but her speed and strength were not affected.

Vile's smile showed teeth again. "Barbas will find you," he said, and vanished.

* * *

Rising, Kara strapped her greatsword to her back and stomped out the fire. She contemplated taking the short, painful way down the mountain, but decided against it. She had no wish to complete Vile's task any sooner than necessary. The snow was thick as she descended, Skyrim still fully in winter's grip. No dead rose as she passed their ancient graves, looping around through the narrow mountain pass she'd entered through.

She would remember Arcwind Point. Its remoteness suited her very well. With her increased strength, she was always worried about accidentally hurting innocent people. Not to mention attracting attention. The last thing she wanted was to be an attraction. It was for those reasons she stayed away from civilisation as much as she was able; avoiding cities altogether, travelling off-road, only venturing into the smaller towns when she was desperate for supplies. Which was hardly ever.

She cut herself off from others, and so had no news of those who she had once travelled with. Gondain, the Dragonborn, had vanished after the battle with the Thalmor and daedra at Helgen; that fateful day when everything had changed for Kara, when she'd stepped through the gate and made her deal with Vile.

She assumed Dar'epha and Vash were still running with the Guild and the College respectively. Kureeth and Falin she knew had spoken of settling in Winterhold too. Antario, the only one Kara could truly have called a friend, had returned to the Summerset Isles. Overcome with the consequences of her own choice, Kara had vanished into the wilds after the battle at Helgen, emerging too late to find her Altmer comrade, to her great regret. He had been a formidable ally and a better friend.

Soon enough, Kara reached the base of the mountains and emerged into the south-western end of the Rift. Faint edges of Secunda peeked through the clouds, Masser still completely hidden. She headed north, passing through what had once, four years ago prior, been a camp belonging to the Imperial Legion. Their position within the province secure, the Legion had abandoned such camps for the relative comfort of forts and cities. Only an abandoned anvil marked the location.

Kara ran her hand across it, wiping the snow off its rusting surface. Remembering the old days when she'd run as a Stormcloak during the rebellion, she moved on. To the east a small Dwemer ruin jutted from the earth, but she left it alone. Bandits usually occupied its thick stone crevices. She had no wish to be reminded of her curse, and a fight was a sure way to do that.

* * *

It was still night when she came through Ivarstead, the small town lying asleep in the shadow of the Throat of the World. Not a soul marked her passage. With both moons now visible, Kara decided she might as well stick to the path. The risk of encountering a traveller was worth the ease of the travel itself. Down the hills and down the winding paths she went, drawing out each step into its own special moment in time.

Dawn had begun to creep upon Nirn when she reached Darkwater Crossing. The mining camp with its single building and collection of tents was still but for one figure; a Dunmer named Sondas Drenim. Kara knew him of old; the Stormcloaks had often passed through the camp during the rebellion, on their way to some doomed endeavour.

The Dunmer miner was sitting cross-legged next to the fire around which the tents encircled. He was using a long branch to jab at the coals, trying to resurrect the flames from the previous evening. He didn't get up as Kara approached, treading quietly so as not to wake the other miners. She went to sit down, but Sondas made a gesture, easing to his feet and guiding her away from the tents, over into the small fenced garden that abutted the house. They shook hands.

"It's been a long time," he said, looking her up and down. Kara wrapped her arms around her torso in the vain hope of hiding something. "Thought you might've died in the war," Sondas continued.

"No," replied Kara. The war felt a lifetime ago. She was changed, in too many ways. She paused. How to explain what she did? How to explain her deal with Vile, her inner emptiness, the way her eternal life stretched before her? "I guess… I'm an adventurer now," she said. Technically true.

Sondas raised his eyebrows. "A dangerous life," he said. "Lonely too." Kara just nodded. She knew.

"You need any food?" asked Sondas. "Supplies?"

Kara shook her head. Times were hard enough for the miners, she didn't want to add to their troubles by taking their hard-earned supplies. "I can manage on my own," she said.

Sondas frowned, unconvinced. This wasn't the Kara he was used to conversing with. "Well," he said, "there's always work in the mine if you ever need gold."

Kara shook her head again. "I don't need gold," she said. She preferred the open air, to feel the wind and sun on her face. Spending too much time underground, hammering at the earth day in and day out, was not the life for her. She knew that Sondas would take her refusal as a suggestion that she had enough gold already, not the truth; that in her new lifestyle she had abandoned the concept almost entirely.

* * *

Bidding Sondas farewell, Kara forsook the path, heading north-east across Eastmarch, working her way around the warm bubbling pools. The air grew warmer, but she kept her furs on. In Skyrim, the heat never lasted. She would be slogging through snow again soon enough.

She passed by one of the standing stones, forsaking its blessing. The way was uneven, but she went on. Soon, too soon, Bonestrewn Crest loomed before her. A notorious dragon lair, although the Dragonborn had killed most of them during his time, so there shouldn't—

Kara's thoughts were cut off as an unmistakable roar shot up from the peak of the Crest. A roar that every being in Skyrim had learnt to fear. Kara felt that fear for a moment, then remembered who she was and what she had to do. A dragon loose in Eastmarch could cause unmeasurable damage. She drew her sword and sprinted up the path to the peak, moving at a speed no mortal could ever hope to match.

There, atop the curved stone wall embedded with ancient runes in ancient tongues, sat a huge dragon. As she approached, its great bronze wings spread and the beast catapulted itself into the air. She skidded to a halt, her eyes following its flight. She bent her legs, waiting for the beast to pass over her.

The circling dragon approached, bellowing words Kara could not understand, did not need to understand.

"_Yol Toor Shul!_" roared the dragon, and a great gout of fire came towards her, the dragon swooping in low above her with intent to incinerate her in an instant. Kara felt the heat wash over her, felt her skin ripple and burn, felt her hair and furs catch fire. She launched herself, a standing jump straight up, reaching just as high as she needed to. Her greatsword sliced along the dragon's belly, red blood spurting out.

The dragon roared again, this time in pain, crashing to the earth in front of the word wall. Kara's landing was just as graceless. Her vision blurring, her sword-grip loosening, she thumped back to the dirt, her legs giving way and leaving her on her side. She scrunched her eyes closed, jagged lights darting across the insides of the lids. Opening them again, she saw the dragon coming for her, leaving a blood trail from its wound.

With her clothes still smouldering, Kara ran at it, slashing a deep cut along its right side, hacking at its wings. If it took off again, she'd never catch it. It turned to snap at her, but she met it with her sword, drawing blood from its snout. She struck again. The dragon tried to pull back, but was stopped by the word wall.

Backed into a corner, the dragon lashed out viciously with a front leg, gaining power by pushing off against the wall. The force of the blow cannoned Kara across the peak, almost sending her off the not-insignificant drop. Instead of meeting air and then the ground below, Kara met a spire of rock with her back. She cursed and rushed the dragon again.

It swiped at her again, but she was prepared and did a short jump back out of range. Coming in again, she brought her sword down, breaking into the dragon's skull and ending its life. Its huge form crumpled in the dirt.

Kara dropped to the dirt as well, rolling in it to put out the fires that still smouldered in her hair and on her clothes. The dragon's corpse remained unmoved. She sheathed her sword and descended the Crest.

* * *

In a pool near the base of the path, Kara examined her reflection. Her clothes were scorched with black marks. Her hair had taken the worst of the dragon's fire, most of it was a tiny fraction of the length it had once been. She drew her knife and hacked off the remaining long pale blonde strands, levelling it all out. She ran a hand across her new shorn head. A finger's width was all that remained; her scalp was blistered and scarred by the fire, as were parts of the left side of her face. Her right ear was unrecognisable.

She spat into the pool, breaking the mirror. She sheathed her knife and moved on, uncaring. She'd never thought much of her own looks to begin; too thick in the neck, too small in the eyes. A scarred visage seemed appropriate to her, an outward manifestation of her curse.

* * *

Her face now another reason to avoid others, Kara darted across the road that connected Windhelm and Riften, and crept into the mountains, more comfortable in the snows. She walked a path that took her halfway between Kynesgrove and the orc stronghold of Narzulbur. She grinned momentarily. If anyone in Skyrim would take her in with such a face, it was the orcs.

Kara cut deep into the mountains, up a steep hill that ascended behind a dragon mound. Thankfully, there were no more dragons in sight. She came close to the border with Morrowind as she skirted the bandits at Traitor's Post, descending again towards the shore. It was well past noon when she reached the Sea of Ghosts. She wandered along its frosty edge, wondering if she was going to have to swim out to the wreck.

Fortunately, there was a small rowboat perched on the shore, trembling on the verge of being swept out to sea. She folded herself into it, peering across at the wreck for any sign of movement. There was none. She rowed the short distance, expecting shouts from the wreck at any moment. There were none. Reaching the shore of the small icy island, she advanced up the hill to the wreck.

The figurehead stretched up into the sky, cresting the top of the hill and visible from a long distance. Kara drew her sword and moved towards the carved statue, its features unreadable through long weathering. She stepped neatly around a pair of bear traps and found herself with a clear view of the wreck that had once been the Winter War.

The large vessel had hit the ice and snapped in two, the gap between the two halves spanned by a makeshift bridge of boards wrenched from elsewhere on the ship. The front half, onto which Kara stepped, was empty of life. Only ruined barrels and crates dotted the deck. But the rear half of the ship sported a roasting spit next to the cabin, with a lone bandit in studded armour turning the meat over the struggling fire.

A Nord woman, Kara saw, like her. The bandit reared up upon seeing Kara, drawing an iron sword and yelling for her comrades. Instead of treading the slippery boards to cross the gap, Kara leapt it in a run, landing with a crunching thump directly in front of the bandit. Her sword cut though the bandit's armour as if it didn't exist. The bandit crumpled, but Kara could hear sets of feet running up the stairs below. She took a position by the side of the cabin door.

When it opened and a small Bosmer in furs came out, Kara swung out and severed his head in one clean swipe. An arrow took her in the gut. She grunted and entered the cabin, finding a Nord man with a beard and a bow, fumbling for another arrow. Kara made the distance before he could get a proper grip. She made a last-second decision and changed the angle of her strike, cutting off the bandit's left leg instead of his head. He screamed and fell the floor, blood bubbling from his wound, creating a widening pool around him.

"Don't go anywhere," Kara told him. She removed the arrow, descended the stairs and searched the wreck on all floors and both halves. There were no more bandits, but more importantly, no Masque. She returned to the main cabin and found the bandit still staring in disbelief at his severed limb, letting loose short gasping breaths.

"Where's the Masque?" she demanded, standing over him. It wouldn't do well to fail Vile on her first assignment.

The Nord spat blood. "That fucking elf took it!" he groaned. "Took the last fucking rowboat, left us out here." He spoke through grinding teeth, his blond beard turning a dark shade of red.

Kara reprimanded herself. She should've checked for tracks around the rowboat when she'd come over. She should've known that the task wouldn't be as simple as Vile had made it sound.

"The thing's cursed!" said the bandit. "And so are you!"

"That's exactly why I'm looking for it," replied Kara, driving her sword through his skull.

* * *

She found the tracks back on the mainland. They headed up the hill and east. It seemed this elf, whoever he was, had decided to head for Morrowind with his cursed cargo. Kara followed in his footsteps, scanning the snowed countryside for any other signs of life. She doubted the elf knew that there was someone on his trail. She could only estimate how much of a head start he had, but she knew that she could probably, hopefully catch him before he crossed the border.

Kara slogged on through the snow, quickening her pace. She reached the road that would lead her through Dunmeth Pass and into Morrowind. The tracks continued on, and so did Kara.

She reached Refugees' Rest in good time. She expected to find herself in a fight; trolls and bears usually took to inhabiting the ruins. However, two frost trolls lay dead on the road, their white fur showing evidence of both blade and magic. Lightning, to be precise. Kara adjusted her assumptions about her quarry. She'd assumed him to be just another common bandit, low in skill and without effective arms. But he was clearly a spellsword, and a reasonably capable one.

Kara was reminded of her old friend Antario, who'd also fought with sword and lightning. The chances of him being the one escaping (attempting to escape, she reminded herself) into Morrowind with the Masque of Clavicus Vile were, unfortunately, too low to even be considered. A bandit was her quarry. A competent one, but a bandit nonetheless.

Kara paused for a moment at the graveyard that lay behind the ruins. She stood in silence, wondering who the dead might have been, what they had run from, what they had hoped for. The snow began to fall and she cursed, returning to the road with redoubled speed. The new falls would cover her foe's tracks if she wasn't quick enough.

* * *

Night fell as she trekked through Dunmeth Pass. The tracks vanished completely. Kara was forced to halt, her sight becoming useless. Both Masser and Secunda were hidden by heavy clouds. She regretted not asking Vile for night vision. She went without a fire, sitting huddled against a rock wall, feeling the chill of the winds that rattled and swished through the Pass. She didn't sleep.

At first light the snows were even thicker. All her strength and speed proved unhelpful against the thick white blanket. Still, she continued on, realising that it was unlikely she'd catch the bandit before he entered Morrowind.

Gradually, the ground began to descend. The white snow gave way to grey ash. The road worsened, became little more than a track. Kara found herself in the land of the Dunmer. The years had not been kind to Morrowind, she knew. The Argonian invasion still dragged on, the capital relocated to Blacklight. It was that city Kara knew her quarry was heading for, it being the closest city to Skyrim.

Without the thick snows slowing her progress, Kara was able to increase her speed dramatically. She shook herself free of the last of the snow and broke into a run, not stopping to look for tracks, merely following the path, hoping to catch the bandit before he reached Blacklight. She doubted the town guards would understand her bargain with Vile and let her cut down the bandit and make off with his valuables.

* * *

It was within sight of the city that Kara sighted her quarry. Closing the distance between them, she saw him to be a Dunmer, no doubt thinking he was heading for home. He scurried along as fast as his dented iron armour would let him, clutching a sack to his chest.

Kara drew her sword as she ran, letting out a yell to announce her presence. The Dunmer swivelled to see the huge Nord bearing down on him, flicking his eyes back towards to city to evaluate his chances. They weren't good. She was coming too fast for him to make it. He dropped the sack and drew a slightly bent Dwemer sword, his left hand preparing a spell. Kara's charge did not falter. She saw his face come into her view. A narrow face, with a dirty black ponytail of hair swishing with his movement, the smatterings of a beard emerging from his chin.

He let loose a bolt of lightning that cannoned into Kara's chest and sent her sprawling on her back, setting her flesh to tingling. She cursed. Vile hadn't given her any special defence against magic, she just had to outflank or outlast any mage she fought. She rose and rushed at him, coming at him with a lazy horizontal slash. The Dunmer ducked, coming up and burying his sword in her gut. She roared and cut his arm off. He fell back, clutching the stump, staring up at her with wide red eyes. His sword still jutted from her middle as he frantically tried to prepare a healing spell with his remaining hand. The glowing light from his hand faded in and out as his pain made it impossible for him to concentrate.

Kara sheathed her own sword and withdrew the Dwarven blade from within her. The Dunmer watched on, speechless. She reached for his sack and rummaged through it, finding the Masque of Clavicus Vile inside, stained with blood and ash. She held it by one of its horns and gazed into its hideous visage. Vile would no doubt grant it to another champion in some part of Tamriel, a reward for services rendered.

"What in Azura's name are you?" asked the Dunmer, his spell failed, his hand clamped over the stump. Blood spilled from between his fingers and dripped in red globs to the ash.

Kara spat. "Azura's got nothing to do with it," she said. She still held the Dwarven sword in her hand. She looked at it and at the Dunmer. She looked down the road to the east, the way they'd both been heading. Blacklight was visible, a mere two hours' travel by Kara's reckoning.

"Unlucky," she said. The Dunmer managed to nod slowly in agreement. "Any last words?" she asked him, raising his sword. She didn't know why she said that. There was nothing he could possibly say to make her let him live. She doubted he'd make it to Blacklight in his condition even if she did.

The Dunmer stared at her, at his own sword, at the Masque, at his severed limb.

"You… you wanted the Masque," he stammered.

Kara nodded, already regretting saying anything but unable to stay silent. "Needed," she corrected him.

A short echo of a laugh escaped the Dunmer's lips. "I would've… I would've given it to you," he said. "If you'd asked. I just… just wanted to get home." His eyes turned towards the horizon, straining with the effort. His gaze fixed on Red Mountain, the huge spire dominating the landscape, still spewing ash into the sky. The sky of his homeland.

"I'm sorry," said Kara, driving his own sword into his chest. She left it and him there and turned back to the west, intending to return to Skyrim. In her path sat Barbas, the hound of Clavicus Vile, his shaggy fur thick with ash. She tossed the Masque to him and he caught it by a horn between his jaws. He spoke as if there was no obstruction to his voice.

"My master wishes for you to return to Skyrim," the dog said. "The affairs of Morrowind are not for you." Kara raised her eyebrows. It shouldn't have been surprising; of course Vile would have other agents, operating in different regions.

"The month of Morning Star is not yet done," continued Barbas. "My master has another task for you." Kara didn't even sigh with resignation; she had expected as much.

"I will find you once you have returned to Skyrim," said the dog. He turned and vanished into the ash with the Masque, going back to his master, his task completed for the moment.

Kara stared down at the dead Dunmer, his eyes still fixed upon Red Mountain. She stepped slowly down the road to the west, backtracking towards the Velothi range. Morrowind held no allure for her, it might have been the bandit's home, but Skyrim was hers.

* * *

She was camped in Refugees' Rest when Barbas found her. She'd been there for a week, fading into the ruins whenever a traveller or caravan came by. Nobody saw her, and she kept it that way. The last thing she wanted was stories circulating of a scarred woman in the wilds who wouldn't die.

The hound of Vile trotted through the opening in the tower, finding her clearing stones, trying to turn the place into something habitable. Travellers could do with a safe place to stop on the road again. Somewhere to hide from the snowstorms, somewhere to regroup before heading down to Windhelm or setting off through the Pass. Maybe the Jarls could do something. Maybe some businessman could. But Kara had done all she could do, all she was willing to do.

"My master has a task for you," said Barbas, his voice making Kara's teeth grind. She dropped the piece of stone she was carrying, resisting the urge to cave in the dog's head with it.

"His shrine has been desecrated," the hound went on, "by vampires serving Molag Bal. You must go there, and cleanse the place."

"Where?" grunted Kara, not wanting to trade words with Barbas any longer than absolutely necessary.

"It is known as Haemar's Shame," said Barbas. "It is located—"

"I know where it is," interrupted Kara. On the road that connected Falkreath and Riften, running through the north edge of the Jerall Mountains, south of the Throat of the World. A notorious lair for all sorts of dangerous creatures and people, it was the main reason why travellers avoided the route in favour of the long way round. She stomped out the doorway past Barbas, hoping he wouldn't say anything else. He didn't.

Cleanse the place. Kara knew what that meant. Killing; lots of it. And she had the power to do it. Well, she thought bitterly, wasn't that what she'd wanted?

* * *

She went through the mountains again, keeping to the far-flung reaches of Skyrim. She emerged back at the dragon mound above Kynesgrove. She skirted the settlement and crossed the road to reach the White River. Staying on the east bank, she moved upriver at a sedate pace. The sun was too high in the sky for her liking, but she knew of a place to wait it out.

A shack rested on the shore of the river a short walk later, long abandoned, its boards crumbling apart, its valuables scavenged and scattered. She spent the rest of the day attempting to turn it into a serviceable place to stay, although there was only so much she could do without proper tools. Vile had said that she was free for the rest of the year to do as she wished. Whatever horrible acts he forced her to commit during Morning Star, the rest of the year was hers. There was no reason, she decided, she should not commit herself to making Skyrim a better place. Her talents would certainly be useful in removing monsters and villains from the province. But balancing it with her desire to stay hidden would be the real challenge.

Evening began and she left the shack, heading upriver. She swam across the river, rejoining the road, now empty of travellers as the night drew closer. She passed Mixwater Mill without incident. At Fort Amol she took a detour to avoid being spotted by the Legionnaires. They still had the capability to unsettle her, a remnant of her past life as a Stormcloak.

Soon she was passing through Ivarstead again, well into the Rift. Almost back to where she'd begun the month. But instead of heading further south towards Arcwind Point, Kara turned west, up the road heading through the mountains.

* * *

The darkness became almost absolute as she reached the place where the road would begin to slope upwards. A single torch bobbed ahead of her in the black. She halted, her hand moving to her sword.

The torch-holder became aware of her.

"Who goes there?" the voice called out. "Come into the light so I can see you."

Kara tentatively approached, not wanting to resort to violence. The speaker turned out to be a middle-aged Redguard man, hints of grey edging into his shaggy black hair and beard. His armour was made of mismatched furs like hers. He had a huge pack slung over his shoulder, along with a hunting bow and a woodcutter's axe. Several knives hung from his belt. He carried the load with ease, and his expression was welcoming.

She came into his circle of light. The Redguard's eyebrows went up at her appearance, but he said nothing about it. Kara thanked him internally. She dropped her hand from her sword.

"Don't often meet other travellers out here," he said, pausing to cough. "Where might you be headin', if you don't mind me askin'?" He adjusted his grip on his pack.

Kara contemplated telling the truth, but decided against it. "Over to Falkreath," she said. "Looking for work."

"Sellin' you sword, eh?" replied the Redguard. "Aye, I been there alright. 'S a hard life." He peered around at the countryside around the road. "I was just about to set up camp," he said. "Care to share my fire? I got plenty of meat to go round."

Kara narrowed her eyes. A truly generous person just wandering the roads of Skyrim? He did seem genuine, and she could use a good meal.

"There a catch?" she asked.

"No catch," replied the Redguard. "Just been a while since I had some conversation, is all." He moved off to his left. "Come on, if you're comin'." Kara looked up and down the road before following him and his circle of light. She wouldn't have been able to continue on without a light anyway, she reasoned.

"Name's Waylas," said the Redguard, dropping down his gear and drawing his axe. Kara tensed. He thrust the torch at her. "Hold this," he said. "I'll go cut us some wood."

Kara was left standing there, peering into the darkness, unable to make him out in the gloom. She heard the sound of axe meeting wood and it wasn't long before Waylas returned with an armload of the stuff, setting about making a fire.

"I been hunting these parts for years," he said, taking the torch from Kara and using it to light the fire. He smothered the end of the torch in the dirt, extinguishing it. The fire was small, but seemed enough for Waylas' purposes. He removed some large cuts of meat from his pack and skewered them, sitting and holding them out over the fire. Kara sat down opposite him, removing her sword and resting it across her crossed legs.

Waylas whistled appreciatively. "Now that is a fine weapon," he said. "Ebony, yeah? I ain't seen the like of that in a long time."

"You said you used to be a sellsword?" asked Kara, making an attempt at conversation. Waylas didn't seem to need much of a prompt to get going.

"Oh, sure," he said, settling into his tale. "So long ago, seems like it can't 'ave been me. Like it must've been someone else doin' those things."

Kara nodded. She understood.

"Born and raised in the Imperial City," Waylas went on. "I ran with the Thieves Guild for a while as a young'un. Wasn't long 'fore someone decided I was in their way and set some mercs after me. Fun while it lasted, though." He turned the meat slowly, letting it cook evenly. "Ended up in Hammerfell after that. Seems my homeland ain't the place for me, though. Couldn't stomach the war. Went north to High Rock. Best place in Tamriel for a sellsword."

He paused and stared into the fire for a moment, a small smile spreading across his face. "Fifteen years I spent there," he said. "Made the best friends I ever had. Exciting times. 'Nough adventures for twenty men to be happy with." His smile disappeared. "Not a lot of those friends still alive, though," he said. "Not a long life expectancy in the sellsword business." He met Kara's eyes. "I came here, hunting around the Rift. Over in Falkreath too. Sell my meat. Enough to get by. Don't have much use for the big cities."

Kara nodded. She was with him on that one. Too many people in the cities, too many eyes.

"What about you?" asked Waylas. "What's your story?"

Kara was silent for a long while, thinking over how to phrase it, where to begin. Waylas didn't push her, just waited patiently, turning the meat.

"I… was born in Windhelm," she said hesitantly. "Joined the guard as soon as I was old enough, then the Stormcloaks when… all of that happened."

Waylas' smile was understanding. "All seems so important when you're young, doesn't it?" he said.

"I hung onto the cause long after the war ended," Kara went on. "Eventually I… realised I was wasting my life, went back to Windhelm for a time. Got myself apprenticed to an alchemist." She deliberately didn't mention the Dragonborn, but she had no idea why. It was an experience she didn't think she could share with anyone else, didn't want to share with anyone else.

She shrugged, willing Waylas to fill the silence. He didn't.

"I got caught up in Thalmor business," she said. A gross simplification, she knew, but there was no way she was telling the man sharing meat with her about her journey into Oblivion and meeting with Clavicus Vile. "Afterwards I… didn't feel at home anywhere any more. Took to the wilds."

Waylas nodded. "Them Thalmor are fiendish bastards, that's for sure," he said. He pulled the meat off of the fire. "It's ready."

* * *

Later, after they'd eaten and Waylas had drifted off into sleep, Kara stood up, keeping as silent as possible. She strapped her sword back on and took Waylas' torch, relighting it with the coals of the fire. She stopped and looked down at his sleeping form. She never thought she'd find a kindred spirit anywhere, let alone that far out in the wilds, but she couldn't stay. She was a dangerous person to be around.

She began the climb towards Haemar's Shame, the shrine of Clavicus Vile.

Fuelled with anger at her own curse, the first vampire's thrall inside the cavern fell with a single strike, almost cut into two pieces. Advancing on, she didn't see a pressure switch until it was too late, the spiked gate swinging into her with full force, leaving puncture marks dotting her skin. She came back from the blow, to the astonishment of the nearest vampire, who began to launch ice spikes at her. Kara deflected the worst of them with her sword and got close to enough to drive it through the vampire's chest.

The fight to the shrine would have killed the mortal Kara two-dozen times over. Peppered with arrows and ice spikes, singed by flames, cut with blades, she took it all and kept going. She searched every corner of the cavern for vampires, exterminating all before her path, often twice due to the vampires' predilection for necromancy. Frequently she didn't leave them much of a body to resurrect.

Splattered with blood and pulling arrows from her skin, she reached the shrine of Clavicus Vile. A small Breton man kneeled before it, holding a bloody dagger. A dead vampire lay before him. As the Breton looked up at her with wonder, she saw that he too was a vampire. She raised her sword to finish her job, but a voice emerged from the shrine.

"No," it said. And it was the voice of Clavicus Vile. His statue was not a depiction in common with how Kara had encountered him. Instead of a short portly man, the stone carving was of a tall horned man in flowing robes, his left arm reaching upwards, holding a representation of his Masque in that hand. A stone Barbas stretched alongside. Kara found that even carved in stone Barbas annoyed her.

The Breton's face split with a hideous vampiric grin. "You're the champion," he said. "I knew you would come. Lord Vile said you would come."

Kara gave him a disparaging look and turned her attention to the statue. "Is that it?" she asked. "Am I done?"

"Yes," replied the voice of Vile. "You have done well. In fact, take the rest of the month off. You'll be hearing from me next year."

Kara sheathed her sword. The Breton attempted to talk to her again, sniffing heavily.

"Lord Vile has given me a very important task," he said, puffing up pretentiously. "I am to infiltrate the Volkihar vampire clan, who serve Molag Bal. I am to—"

Kara cut him off. "Save it," she said, "for someone who gives a damn." She swept past him, looking for the back exit.

* * *

Emerging into the night snows, she looked down at herself. Secunda had appeared during her time in the cavern, letting her see with some clarity. Her furs were full of holes and stained with blood. An arrow she hadn't noticed protruded from her shin. She yanked it out. She was going to need some new armour.

What to do with her eleven months off? Kara knew her powers could be turned to good as well as evil. Maybe there was some way she could counter-balance what she did for Vile. An atonement. She liked the sound of that.

She struggled to remember something Sondas had told her at Darkwater Crossing before she'd left. Something about the Dawnguard reforming. She had no idea who they'd been before, but they sounded like an organisation that would take her in and have a use for her talents.

Kara scratched her scarred scalp and set out eastward, heading down into the Rift towards the Fort of the vampire-hunters.


End file.
